


there's tumbleweed in my heart where love was supposed to be

by victoriousscarf



Series: miles to go before the fall of night, across the ocean and over the ruins [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Untreated Mental Health Issues, i cannot stress enough no one has good coping mechanisms in this story, picks up immediately after act 3 "alone" so I don't think that will come as a surprise to anyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: For a long time he stared at Anders as Anders stared back.“Are you deaf?” Fenris settled for, tilting his head to one side.“No,” Anders said, and his hair was wet, the constant summer rain dripping down into his feathers, making them look even more bedraggled than usual.“Then why are you here?” Fenris asked.Anders took a deep breath, almost a gulp, and then another one. “I need your help.”
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age), Male Hawke/Sebastian Vael
Series: miles to go before the fall of night, across the ocean and over the ruins [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158905
Comments: 22
Kudos: 54





	there's tumbleweed in my heart where love was supposed to be

**Author's Note:**

> So back in chapter 89 of "the forest is dark and deep and i've seen you here before" I wrote this exchange:
> 
> _“That sounds right,” Nathaniel said. “Speaking of Anders, he would be very upset if I did not give this to you,” and he went around Sonja’s front, holding a letter out to Hawke, whose eyes had gone wide._
> 
> _“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, not taking the letter._
> 
> _“If you say Anders ranted upon meeting me again,” Nathaniel said, still holding the letter out. “You can only imagine the things he’s said since you publicly joined the Inquisition.”_
> 
> _“Oh fuck ,” Hawke managed. “He--what is he even doing back at Amaranthine?”_
> 
> _“The Warden Commander tracked him down,” Nathaniel said and Mahanon frowned down at him, though his back was turned. “It was the strangest thing. I hadn’t thought Alim had forgiven him for leaving but a little while ago he just got up and left one day, and came back with Anders in tow.” When Hawke just stared at him, Nathaniel shook the letter, as if to remind Hawke he was still holding it out. “He’s doing well enough, all things considered.”_
> 
> _“Oh,” Hawke said softly. “That, that’s good.”_
> 
> _“I believe Fenris also added a post script to the note,” Nathaniel continued._
> 
> _“Fenris?” Hawke asked, loud enough several people turned their heads to stare at him. Sonja for her part stomped one of her feet, as if to admonish Hawke for getting too loud. “What do you mean, Fenris added a postscript ?”_
> 
> _“More or less what it sounds like,” Nathaniel said._
> 
> _“What the fuck is he doing in Amaranthine?” Hawke hissed, something strange in his expression._
> 
> _“Not becoming a Grey Warden,” Nathaniel said and finally gave up, shoving the letter into Hawke’s chest and letting go, so Hawke had to catch it. “I presume the letter will cover at least some of it.”_
> 
> And knew then and there, I would end up writing the story of how the heck Fenris and Anders end up in Vigil's Keep at the same time during Inquisition. This story is obviously very closely tied to things I've established in that story, but does not yet necessarily require reading it. 
> 
> This picks ups immediately after Fenris' personal quest in Act 3, "Alone."

Fenris was free.

He was free now, wasn’t he? 

He kept turning the phrase over and over in his mind as he lay flat on his back, staring at the dark ceiling above him. Danarius was dead, which meant he was finally, truly, irrefutably free. 

He was free.

He was free.

He was—

He turned over on his side, kicking the blanket off his legs to stare just as blankly at the dark wall as he had been at the ceiling.

So why did it still feel like there were chains pressing his chest down to the bed, like the black poison still lined his lungs? Why did it feel like his master’s death hadn’t changed anything at all?

He rolled back onto his back, trying the words out, as if saying them would change anything.

“I am free,” he told the empty room and felt like the words were too small for the space he said them in. Saying them out loud just made them feel even more inadequate.

He tried to remember the way Hawke had looked at him, full of sorrow and quiet pride, the way Sebastian had smiled. They believed in him, they wanted him to be free. With their help, maybe, someday he would feel as free as they said he was. They were his friends, he reminded himself, over and over. They were his friends, they had said so—

_Well, I’m not_ , Anders had been the one to say. 

Anders.

Fenris felt his fingers curl into fists at his side.

Just like that he was up and moving, not even bothering with most of his armor, just buckling his jerkin over his sleep shirt and picking his sword up. There were always idiots willing to challenge anyone in Kirkwall in the middle of the night, but over the years less had bothered him, even when he was on his own. 

He did not fear them anymore.

Instead he could only see Anders' face as they stood there, mocking his sister being a mage and calling Fenris a hypocrite, as if the revelation didn't feel like a knife slid into his ribs. Fenris hadn't even remembered he _had_ a sister, not really, until she had been sitting in front of him.

He'd known, because he had been told, but he had not _remembered_. How was he supposed to know she was a mage?

But what Anders had said afterwards, with Danarius’ blood warm on his hands, didn’t matter as much as he said before. 

_Why not hand him back over? It would take care of so many of our problems._

The way Hawke and Sebastian both turned to stare at him, the disgust on Isabella's face and the tightness in Varric's did not make Fenris feel calmer. Nothing made him feel calmer, not claiming his own freedom or the memory of Danarius' broken and empty body.

He stormed all the way down to Darktown, slamming open the clinic’s doors. The lights were off but the paltry locks were not enough to keep anyone out, let alone Fenris. 

Anders bolted upright from where he had fallen asleep on a table, a quill and ink in front of him. “Fenris—” he started, blinking sleep out of his eyes and Fenris strode forward to slam both his hands down on the table in front of him. It did not have the power it might have had if he had bothered with his gauntlets, but it still made Anders jump. 

“How dare you,” Fenris hissed. 

Instantly the sleep disappeared from Anders' eyes, replaced by blank disregard. “How dare I what?” he asked, the lanterns burning inside the clinic catching the copper of his hair and distracting Fenris for just half a second. 

Fenris dug his fingers into the wood, wishing he could dig grooves in it with just his nails. “You would have sold me back,” he said. 

Anders blinked once and tipped his chin back. “You should be willing to fight for the freedom of everyone, knowing as you do what it’s like to be a slave.” But his voice sounded detached, like he was saying a line from something he wrote, instead of what he meant.

“And so you would be willing to sell me back to my master?” Fenris hissed. “Just for disagreeing with you? You would sell someone back to slavery because of your pride?”

“My pride?” Anders demanded. “It’s not about my pride. You’re a danger—"

Fenris snarled at him. “I never asked to be your friend. I don’t _care_ if you hate me. But how dare you stand there and insist you fight for freedom when you’re the hypocrite. When you would have given me back to the man that took everything from me—"

“Did you come down here in the middle of the night just to lecture me?” Anders demanded, waving one hand around. 

“Why?” Fenris demanded and he hated the fact that it came out plaintive, begging, and Anders drew back slightly in surprise at it. “Even if we were never going to be friends, even with every argument we’ve had. How could you mean it?” 

Anders' eyes had gone blank again and Fenris wished desperately he had been able to think of him only as _the mage,_ because thinking of him as _Anders_ made the feeling that he was going to break at the betrayal only that much stronger. Somehow, Anders' casual disregard for his freedom stung much worse than the actual betrayal of of his sister. 

They had been together for years, even if never friends. Shouldn't that have mattered?

“Because I believe in the freedom of mages, and you’re a danger to that,” Anders said, voice perfectly blank and Fenris swung himself around the table, launching himself at the mage, who didn’t react quickly enough. They tumbled backward, Anders landing on his back, legs tangled up in the chair he was still sitting in, and Fenris on top of him. Anders' eyes were wide, but he hadn't had the time to react.

“I deserve to be free,” Fenris snarled, Anders' hands coming up, as if to push him back. “You would take that away from me because of your own hypocritical crusade—”

Anders slapped him and Fenris lifted both his shoulders just to slam him back down to the ground. He saw the mage’s eyes flicker blue and activated his brands immediately in response. 

“You could have been an ally,” Anders said, his voice echoing with the abomination. “Instead you are an enemy.”

“You have become too lost in your own obsession to think clearly anymore,” Fenris said. “You have become that which you always claimed to hate.”

“How dare—"

“I have never sold you back to the Templars!” Fenris yelled, still pinning him down and the blue in Anders' eyes flickered, almost shutting down. “Do you know how many times Sebastian has mentioned it? Do you know how much Varric pays to keep you safe? I have _protected_ you, because Hawke asked! And you would sell me back without a thought?”

“You are still an enemy who works against our goals of freedom,” Anders said, echoing still, and Fenris yelled wordlessly at him, sinking both his hands into the mage’s chest, fingers curled around his heart, before he even thought of it.

“I hate you,” Fenris hissed. 

“Of course you do,” Anders whispered and Fenris snarled, his hands still in his chest, because he had finally admitted to himself he didn’t want to hate the mage. He had never really wanted to hate him. 

The betrayal hurt all the worse for the fact he had never wanted Anders to hate him either. 

A moment stretched between them, almost breaking before Anders brought both his hands up, cupping Fenris’ cheeks and it made Fenris’ breath catch, only making his anger blaze even higher for one brief moment before it call came crashing back down again. One thumb swiped under his eye, and suddenly all the Fade energy disappeared from the mage’s eyes, leaving only the blue glow of Fenris’ brands to wash Anders' face in blue.

“Are you crying?” he asked, softly, Fenris’ hands still around his heart.

And Fenris realized he was. Tears leaked from his eyes as he looked down at Anders, all the pain and rage and everything he said he didn’t want anymore twisted up in his chest. 

With another yell he yanked his hands back out of Anders’ chest, taking nothing with him and Anders’ choked out a shocked breath. “I never wanted to hate you!” Fenris yelled, rearing back up onto his knees. “Don’t you understand that?”

“You hate mages,” Anders said, even though he didn’t move.

“Do you think I still hate Hawke?” Fenris spat.

Anders’ hands came up again and Fenris shoved them away. “An exception doesn’t mean you changed your mind.”

“But I could!” Fenris said. “If you ever gave me the chance I could have.”

“And what if I can't risk that?” Anders said, and this time he managed to shove at Fenris' chest, not moving him at all. 

“Can't risk it?” Fenris demanded. “What would you have to lose?”

When Anders only stared at him, expression shockingly open, Fenris had to look away, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes, as if that would remove the tears he couldn't seem to stop. 

“Fenris,” Anders said very softly, almost quiet enough to miss but Fenris just felt more adrift than when he had come. 

“I can't keep doing this,” Fenris said. “I can't keep allowing myself to drown myself in all this hatred.”

He was free—

He leaned forward suddenly, bracing his elbows next to Anders' head and putting his face only inches away from Anders'. He caught Anders' eyes widening, shocked at the closeness. Fenris allowed himself to stay there for just a moment, legs still around Anders' hips, Anders still somehow with his legs tangled up in the chair legs. 

“I never want to speak to you again,” Fenris whispered into the tiny space between them, seeing something else sweeping across Anders' face before he pushed himself back and away, almost at the door before Anders seemed to realize he was even gone. 

“Fenris,” he said, as Fenris picked his sword back up from where he'd left it at the door, which still hung dangerously open.

“No,” Fenris said instead, and closed the door behind him, ignoring the broken latch as he left. 

Anders would fix it, or he wouldn't, but it wasn't Fenris' problem anymore. 

He was—

-0-

“Broody,” Varric called from down below as Fenris sat on the root of one of the Alienage houses. He had a hammer in one hand, and hatred deep inside him, like it was a living creature that had sneaked in his cracks and now was impossible to remove. “It's going to be dark soon! Please tell Hawke to come down.” 

Fenris looked over at Hawke, who was adjusting a board a few inches away from him. “Tell him yourself,” he called back.

“He's not going to listen to me!” Varric wailed, one of the children of the Alienage holding onto his leg and giggling. 

“He's right, I probably won't,” Hawke grinned at him.

“Are you going to listen to me?” Fenris asked, arching a brow. 

“Hm, maybe,” Hawke said cheerfully.

“Varric, you should probably go find Sebastian if you want Hawke to come down,” Fenris called and Hawke narrowed his eyes at him.

“That was low,” Hawke said.

“Then you should have listened to Varric and I,” Fenris said, and it felt almost normal. 

It felt like maybe the last week had just been a dream, or a nightmare. He'd tried not to think about Anders at all, or the empty hollowed out spaces inside him where he thought freedom should have been. When Hawke stopped by with a basket of food—because Fenris apparently could not feed himself, and Fenris wished he could resent Hawke's kindness less—and an offer to head down to the Alienage, Fenris had agreed in the hopes of exactly this.

A feeling like maybe, eventually, things would go back to the tentative way they had been before. 

It felt like a chirping bird in his fingers, this hope. 

He was scared if he startled, he might crush it to death by accident. 

“Hawke!” Sebastian called, standing next to Varric, Buster sitting on one of his feet. “Varric's getting worried about you.”

“We're almost done with this roof,” Hawke said. “It's not dark yet, and I'd hate to leave it with the rain coming.”

“Hammer faster,” Fenris suggested, looking over at the clouds heading their direction. 

Hawke grunted, and Fenris focused on the rhythmic feeling of using his own hammer, focused on the feeling of helping someone else repair their own home when his was a moldering ruin.

Though, he kept thinking, if Danarius was dead, then wasn't the mansion now his? 

After years of refusing to fix anything that belonged to Danarius, he was starting to wonder if it hadn't just been the house he refused to work on. 

But he didn't belong to Danarius anymore, because Danarius was dead.

He was—

“Fuck,” Hawke muttered, as the first rain drops started to fall. “Come on, one more board.”

“If you break your neck, I'm not helping take care of you,” Fenris said, putting the last board in place. 

“At this point, you're just as likely to break your neck getting down off this roof,” Hawke pointed out. 

“Point,” Fenris allowed, but he let Hawke go down the ladder first. Somehow they both got down on the slick wood without falling, though Fenris slipped on the last rung. 

“Welcome back to solid ground,” Varric said, already hiding under one of the awning cloths from the rain. 

“You shouldn't worry so much,” Hawke said, flicking water at him with his fingers as Varric scowled.

“It's hard not to currently worry about you,” Varric groused and Hawke's expression fell. Sebastian and Fenris both gave Varric a look as he scowled at himself. This day had been an attempt to distract Hawke from Meredith's constantly increasing demands. 

Merrill poked her head out of her door. “Are you done? You should come in for dinner.”

“We're done,” Hawke said happily. “Fenris, Varric?”

Fenris opened his mouth, uncertain if he was going to agree or not when he saw Anders coming out of an apartment across the Alienage square. For a long moment Fenris could only stare, because his week had been blessedly free of the mage, ever since—

But then Anders saw him, his eyes widening and Fenris snapped his gaze away. “I must go,” he said.

“Fenris,” Merrill started but Fenris just waved her off, and he didn't even try and lie to himself about the fact he was running away. 

He almost made it to the stairs, but then Anders grabbed one of his hands. 

“Do not touch me,” Fenris said, whirling around and activating his brands. Anders froze, his eyes wide. 

“Fenris, I—”

“Do not _speak_ to me,” Fenris said, brands still lit. “I thought I made myself clear—”

“You don't get to make an ultimatum like that,” Anders protested. 

Fenris took a step closer, making Anders lean back. “If you had sold me back to Danarius, it's hardly like I would be here to speak to. So do not.”

He turned and walked away, ignoring the rain and the wetness on the ground, or the way Anders' eyes had looked a second ago.

“Fenris!” Anders called, and Fenris could only resent that the mage had chosen _now_ to care. 

He stomped all the way back to Hightown in the rain, pausing in front of the door and staring at the dark, empty rooms of his own disregard. For a long time he stood there, listening to the rain drip in through the holes in the ceiling, wondering why he had allowed himself to live like this for so long. 

Would he ever feel free, standing in this ruin? 

Where else did he have to go?

He was  _ free _ .

He wondered if he tore his heart out of his own chest, if it would look any different now than it had when he was a slave.

Still he stood there in the darkness, listening to the rain.

-0-

The next day Hawke showed up at his door and dragged him over to the Amell estate, because Sandal was making his Enchantment Soup for dinner. Fenris suspected he never wanted to know what went  _ into _ Enchantment Soup, but he couldn't deny it was good, so he went without more than a token protest.

Sebastian was helping Orana set the table as they walked inside, shaking the still falling rain out of their hair. 

“At least you didn't bring Buster out in the rain with you,” Sebastian remarked, flicking another drop off of Hawke's cheek and making Hawke grin. 

“You don't want to smell wet dog for the rest of the night?” Hawke asked, wrapping his arms around Sebastian's waist and pressing a kiss to his temple, Sebastian's eyes closing for a moment. Fenris looked away, because it always felt too intimate to watch them when they were like that. Hawke showed his affection with kisses to Sebastian's hand and temple, and sometimes even his cheek. Sebastian showed his in the matching gold rings they wore. 

Sometimes Fenris caught Hawke watching Sebastian as he moved around a room, or down an alley in Lowtown, or the way Hawke got arrested just watching Sebastian's lips move as he talked. 

He did not understand the parameters of their marriage, but then again, it was not his to understand. 

It made Hawke happy, in some way, and that was what mattered. 

Even if Varric and Anders refused to understand that. Somewhat surprisingly, Isabella had come out in strong favor of their match, even attending the ceremony in the Chantry with Fenris and Aveline. Merrill had wanted to come, but decided not to enter the Chantry with so many officials present. 

The Nightingale, the Left Hand of the Divine herself, had been there, and Fenris could only allow that Merrill's decision to stay away had been the right one. 

“And there's the dwarf of the hour,” Hawke said, Sandal coming out of the kitchen with a pot of soup, his father at his heels as if he was scared Sandal might drop it. After that, things were a blur of color and noise and Fenris found himself sitting carefully on the far side of the table with Orana. Sometimes they would find themselves like that, too tense from all the tenderness and light in a single room, needing to sit in constrained silence and watch it all unfold in front of them. 

“How is your reading going?” Fenris asked as Hawke swung Sandal around in the air, Buster going in circles around them. 

“I've been reading one of Varric's books,” Orana said, her hands folded on the table in front of her. 

“Why?” Fenris asked and she gave him a tiny smile.

“It's easier to read than some of the volumes Anders recommended to me,” she said. “Varric uses smaller words that are easier to sound out.”

“I suppose,” Fenris said slowly, trying to let the reference to Anders slide off his back. 

“Do you not like them?” Orana asked, jostling their shoulders together, and Fenris remembered how long it had taken her to be able to do that. He would never tell her it made him ache, or the effort it took for him not to light his brands.

“They are trite,” he said instead, and Hawke set a bowl down in front of him with a flourish. 

“Stop insulting Varric or he'll appear just to defend himself,” Hawke teased and was gone in another whirl. 

“He must be able to tell we're bad mouthing him all the way across town,” Orana said and Fenris rolled his eyes. 

“Not even Varric would have the power to sense that,” he said, watching Hawke take Sebastian's hands and do a few slow turns. It was hard for Hawke to stand still, constantly wanting to be in motion, constantly wanting to show the people around them how much he loved them all. 

Sometimes Fenris wondered what that would be like, all the time. But then Hawke and the others were finally settling down at the table, and Orana was smiling more than she used to, and Sandal kept beaming at everyone and sometimes it all made Fenris clench his jaw so hard his teeth ached.

When he tried to slip out later, Hawke caught him at the door with another basket of food. 

“I am not starving, Hawke,” Fenris said. 

“How are you doing?” Hawke asked, with that serious look in his eye. 

“I'm fine,” Fenris said, looking away. 

“What happened, with your sister, that was a lot—”

“I'm fine,” Fenris repeated. “I am processing.”

“You don't have to worry about Danarius anymore,” Hawke said.

“No,” Fenris agreed. “I don't.”

“Do you think you'll finally fix up that mansion?” Hawke asked, and there were deep circles under his eyes. There always were these days.

And for the first time since he settled down there, Fenris didn't have an answer. “I don't know,” he admitted. 

“If you need help, just let us know,” Hawke said and Fenris nodded tightly, taking the food and leaving.

It kept raining.

-0-

Kirkwall kept inching closer and closer to something, and those who knew all felt the cliff edge approaching them. 

But until the earth crumbled beneath them, there was nothing to do but keep going.

One time, Fenris saw Hawke coming back from the Gallows , head down and Anders beside him. He immediately turned down a side street that went no where just to avoid the mage. 

He thought he hadn't even been noticed until Hawke showed up the next day. 

“Are there less mushrooms than usual?” he asked and Fenris scowled at him. 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he said. 

“Alright,” Hawke said, like he knew Fenris had tried to clean up the entry way before giving up in annoyed disgust. “So how's the hip doing?”

“I understand if you don't have time for this,” Fenris started but Hawke waved a hand. 

“Fenris, we're talking about your life here. Did anything we try last time work?”

With a sigh, Fenris led Hawke further into the mansion, to the room that he actually had bothered to keep more or less in shape. Once there he pulled the top of his leggings down so Hawke could look at where his Lyrium markings had started to break out of their lines. 

“So nothing we did last time worked,” Hawke sighed. “It looks exactly like it did last time.”

“I agree,” Fenris said quietly. 

Hawke leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “Has it started breaking down anywhere else yet?”

“No,” Fenris said. “I don't think so. Just here.”

“So far,” Hawke said. “Did Danarius ever talk about it?”

“He did spells sometimes,” Fenris said. “I didn't realize they were about this, but now I think they must have been. It was only every few years, and this didn't start until quite a while, well.”

“Do you remember anything about them?” Hawke asked hopefully.

“They were blood magic,” Fenris said, voice flat, and Hawke sighed again. 

“Fenris,” Hawke said quietly. “I'm out of ideas. I've been trying to talk to the Circle healers when I get called in there, and they don't have any ideas either. I'm not sure this is something spirit healing—or any other type of magical healing—can even fix. But maybe, if I can get Anders too—”

“No,” Fenris said immediately. 

“Fenris,” Hawke started.

“No,” Fenris said.

“I know what he said,” Hawke said. “But we're talking about your life here. If we can't fix this, if it keeps breaking down—”

“No,” Fenris said again and for a second Hawke leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Alright,” he said finally. “Alright. I saw you dodging both of us. Would it even matter, if he apologized?”

Fenris stared at Hawke, remembering the feeling of Anders' hands on his face, thumb under his eye as Anders stared at him like he had never seen him before. “He hasn't,” he said. 

“Have you—”

“I gave him the chance,” Fenris said, and wondered if that was really true. 

Hawke squinted at him. But he did not press. “Alright, I'll keep that in mind. What about Merrill?”

“What?” Fenris asked.

“She knows blood magic,” Hawke started.

“Absolutely not,” Fenris said, and felt the sliver of guilt at Hawke's expression. 

“Fenris,” he said, voice low, like he was suppressing a great amount of emotion. “If we can't figure this out—”

“I'll know what it means,” Fenris said. “It hurts more, than all the other brands combined,” and Hawke winced. “I know what Lyrium does to Templars, and I know what it would mean if it keeps breaking down.” 

“Then why are you being so stubborn?” Hawke demanded. 

“Because I'm free,” Fenris said, and thought maybe that's what it really meant. “Because I have to live my life now how I can—without blood magic. It's my choice to make about my own life, Hawke.”

Hawke looked away, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Alright,” he said finally, thankfully not saying what Fenris was sure he was thinking.

Fenris had, after all, just asked him to watch him die if he had to. 

“I'll keep looking,” Hawke said. “Maybe—maybe that Warden we met a few times, Stroud or whatever, maybe he'll let me take a look at some of their books. Maybe they know something.”

“The Wardens?” Fenris asked, arching a brow. “They won't help,” he said and Hawke glared at him so Fenris swallowed. “But I suppose it can't hurt to ask.”

“Here,” Hawke said. “The least I can do is see about a pain spell before I go.”

Fenris grit his teeth rather than protest and nodded, letting Hawke press his hands against Fenris' side, above his hip, and let the magic sink its discordant teeth into his skin around the Lyrium. 

When Hawke left, Fenris found himself turning around in a circle, staring at the small marks of the life he lived in Kirkwall. There wasn't much in the room, his sword, a small stack of books he could barely read, the lute Orana was helping him learn to play better, his armor—

He went downstairs and started scrapping more mushrooms off the entry way floor, thinking he should have fixed the roof first, because if it stayed this damp, it would just grow back. 

He was there, frustrated and increasingly angry when a knock came at his door.

For a long time he didn't move, because Hawke had already been and left. 

But the knock came again, quieter this time, so he moved over to the door and yanked it open.

For a long time he stared at Anders as Anders stared back. 

“Are you deaf?” Fenris settled for, tilting his head to one side.

“No,” Anders said, and his hair was wet, the constant summer rain dripping down into his feathers, making them look even more bedraggled than usual.

“Then why are you here?” Fenris asked.

Anders took a deep breath, almost a gulp, and then another one. “I need your help.”

Fenris thought about slamming the door in his face, thought about laughing and then slamming the door in his face, but instead he just took a step back to let Anders inside. 


End file.
